


A Light Toss Salad of Rocket, Strawberries and Grapes with Toasted Pine and Parmesan Cheese

by 1000lux



Series: Vegetarian Summer Entrées [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hurt feelings, M/M, Reflection, coda for season 1 finale, leads to beginning of Red Dragon, mindgames, vengeful!Will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-22 17:38:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000lux/pseuds/1000lux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We start at the end of episode 13.<br/>Hannibal and Will share a moment.<br/>One victor.<br/>One defeated.</p>
<p>Will intends to change that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction, I own neither rights to the characters nor to the series or the books or the movies.
> 
> This is part of my series where Hannibal and Will get back together after Red Dragon. This is chronologically set before part 1 and part 2 of the series, but it can be read individually too.
> 
> This story will lead to the point where part 2 starts.
> 
> Somehow this series has has developed a life of its own.^^

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ PROLOGUE ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

A smile.

I see it and it hits me. For a moment it knocks the wind out of me.  
He's done with me.

Then...

Acknowledgement.  
Not acknowledgement of defeat.  
Acknowledgement of having been caught unaware.  
Acknowledgement of having made a mistake.

Only a few fractions of a moment.

And we've said everything that's left to be said without speaking at all.

"I will do anything in my power that I can do for you."  
Such a noble gesture of friendship. Such concern. I shudder with disgust.  
"Are you enjoying yourself Dr. Lecter?"  
A twitch in the corner of his mouth.  
Yes, we are enjoying ourselves tremendously.  
"Maybe another time then, Will."  
He takes his leave.

Shame.  
Betrayal.  
Hurt.  
Shame. 

Shame. 

Shame.

*****************

First I scream. I scream so much I wonder why my voice doesn't give out.

*****************

Then I get angry.

*****************

In this moment I am truly aware of who I am. For the first time in so long, I can grasp myself pulsing under my fingers.  
I know who I am.  
I know who did this to me.  
I don't know what the future will bring. I don't know how long it will take.  
But I know with burning certainty that I will succeed.

I will destroy him as completely and utterly as he's destroyed me.

In this moment I feel alive.

I am not a broken teacup. He could break me physically. Turn my mind against me. But my mind is healed now.  
I am looking now, Hannibal. I see now.  
I will look upon your little world and I will dissect it as I dissect my fish. As you dissected Abigail.  
I will find your mistakes. Because everyone makes them.  
You think you're a god. But you're only a man. I know you're type.  
I can see you.

And I will make all the others see too.

This is my design.

 


	2. Chilled Minestrone served in carved Pattypan Squash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has a plan. A plan that will top even Hannibal's endgame. Dr. Chilton's facility is only a temporary living arrangment. He'll make sure Hannibal will stay there for good, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, after literally years, I've continued this series. I intend to finish it this time. Only one chapter missing, after all.

Cause we all fall for beautiful lies  
From the sweet hello  
to the bitter goodbye

And I can't lie   
You got me

(Ivy Quainoo - You got me)  
*******************

His lips trace over my body. A gasp. Then we're kissing. Stubble scraping against lips. I chuckle.   
"You should really walk around without a suit more often."   
"I doubt my patients would appreciate it."   
"I think you'd be surprised."  
He laughs. I sit on top of him. He's only ever allowed to laugh like this around me. I refuse to share.  
I let out a surprised gush of air, when he lifts me and my back makes contact with the wall. My fingernails leave red marks across his shoulder blades. He gives me a feral glance.  
"I should do a hell lot more to you." My tongue traces his ear.  
"Still angry? You couldn't possibly think I'd leave you there?" He dares to smirk at me.  
I suck the red liquid from his thumb.  
"So when are we going to eat Chilton's heart?"

I open my eyes. Fucking meds. Fucking Chilton. I don't think he considers himself above giving me hallucinogenous pills to have something interesting to write about. Maybe Hannibal would be willing to kill him, if I ask nicely.

After the paralyzing pain of betrayal had subsided, I had to tone down the rage until it's nothing more than a dull ache. Rage is no good companion for those who need to keep a clear mind.  
I've spent enough time with a muddled mind. And we've seen where it got me. Well, currently I'm not exactly drug free, but it's a damn sight better than brain inflamation.

*******************

Like a shark he circles me, waiting for the moment to move in for the kill, now that I'm bleeding. He can't stay away.  
He just has to come closer. Poking and prodding. Waiting for a reaction. There's still the smugness I've seen the day I was arrested, but there's something else now, something...I can't call it discontent, but it's what comes closest. And I haven't figured out yet why.

And for me? It feels like being haunted by your bad decisions. I still feel a lot like I've been hit by a train, but I am aware, and I think he is too, that everyday he shows up here is in my favor, not his.  
He got me once and he got me good. But I do this for a living. And it's always arrogance that takes down people like him.  
But I've got time. Hannibal isn't my priority right now. I'm going to build myself a defence even Hannibal won't be able to turn against me. It works in my favor that Chilton, that insufferable pig, conducts my sessions in his office. While I'm waiting for him I get a glimpse at the newspaper or files he's working on.  
Among all those murderers I'm going to find one that will suit my needs just fine.

*******************

"How are you feeling today, Will?"  
"Oh, quite alright."  
"And why's that?" He looks genuinely curious.  
"I had a lot of time for self-reflection."  
"Are you finally acknowledging the things you've done?"  
"Hannibal," I use his first name purposely. An intimacy shared only between the two of us. "We are both aware there's nothing for me to acknowledge. How about I tell them about us? You wouldn't be allowed to come here to watch this little freakshow you so meticulously arranged."  
"Well, that would be a shame. I enjoy our little conversations tremendously."  
"We'll see if you still enjoy them as much, once we've switched positions."  
He gives me a look of appreciation. He likes that I'm still fighting.  
"And how are you going to accomplish that?"  
"You've made your move, Hannibal. Now I'll make mine."

*******************

There's still the most horrible question of all. The one that answering never brought anyone peace. Nevertheless, no matter how horrible the crime, people will never cease to ask it. Why? Not why did Hannibal kill all these people. No, why me? Also a classic one. Why me and why not anylonger? What was it he wanted from me?

And why does every interaction of us still feel too much like courting, too much like a dance that's continued despite reason? Why does it feel like whatever was still continues?

He played me. From moment one. He used my weakness, my sickness. And played me to his enjoyment. He hurt me in an unspeakable way. I still taste Abigail's blood in my mouth, still taste the bile and it makes me want to throw up uncontrollably.  
Funny enough, the medication gives me back a piece of tranquility I probably wouldn't be able to muster otherwise. It takes some of my clarity too, but that I can deal with.

*******************

"Please, Will" Alanna beseeches me. "Hannibal is trying to help you. We're all trying to help you."  
"Jack doesn't."  
"I don't believe for one second that you knew what you did when you killed Cassie Boyle. Not for one second! Do you hear me!"  
Alanna. Sweet, supportive Alanna. Everything would have been easier if I could have loved her.

*******************

Was it all a lie? I'm far too proud to ask that question. I intend to keep the sparse scraps of dignity Hannibal left me. With Dr. Chilton I will need every last one of them.

Anyway these questions are not productive. I have a job to do. I have my own play to conduct. I'm not going to disappointment either Hannibal or me in this. He's not seen the half of me.

********************

"Is the muzzle really necessary?" I ask.  
I receive only silence from Jack. I didn't expect him to take my side. I just like to remind all of them from time to time that I'm an actual person.

********************

I can tell he wants to touch me. Despite his face giving nothing away, despite having been tricked so horribly by him, I can tell. He wants to step forward, wants the breach the security glass and touch me.

********************

I found a perfect fit. Gordon Prescott. Dissociative schizophrenia. Murdered three women in three completely different ways. Was still running free during the Chesapeake cases. And the kicker is, it is suspected that they haven't even found all of his victims yet. I read his file. All of Chilton's notes on him. Chilton likes to let me stew a little bit before our questioning (therapy). They put a muzzle on me and cuff my hands together, but that doesn't exactly hinder me to get up and open drawers. It's funny how on one side they think the worst of me and on the other underestimate me so terribly. I read his file, look at the crime scene photos. It's not the same as walking the crimescene, but it'll have to do. I spend weeks doing just that. Getting into his mind, finding his design. I spend periods of time in my cell being entirely in his mind. A good crime needs it's fair share of preparation time.   
Once I've known him as only he knows himself, having taken from Chilton's notes what the man himself would never be able to grasp, I strike.  
He has therapy in the same room I have. I leave him little messages, at places I know he will find, that Dr. Chilton wouldn't even look at. Little pieces of information only the killer would have, or for that matter the people who worked on the case. It doesn't matter whether or not he will admit to committing the crimes. It won't help him to claim that he received notes from someone. The notes I sent him are written in his own hand-writing.

********************

Before my plan can fully ripen, though, someone else makes a move.

"The Chesapeake Ripper has claimed another victim, right?"  
"How did you get that information?" The mistrust and hostility in Jack's eyes hurts more than I would have expected. I snort.  
"I can tell by you're face."  
"I'm not here to talk about a case."  
"You once considered me a friend. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you believe I did these things."  
"I know that anybody is capable of doing anything."  
It's a slap in the face, but I'm used to disappointment by now. I don't expect good from anyone anylonger, I only expect them to act the way their nature makes them. If I stop looking at them as friends and only regard them as subjects to my analysis, I can see exactly what they are, what makes them tick, how they'll respond. And since they're watching me, it's only fair I'm watching them.

*******************

Did he do it for me? An unhealthy question. He did it because he's a serial killer and has killing cycles. That's the save answer, the sane answer, the easy answer. Was it his concession to having been wrong? His attempt to fix things, to declare defeat? Never. Never. Another game? Lulling me into false safety? Again, what exactly makes me think it isn't exactly the easy answer? The first suspect you think of is most times the right one. Our brain spins questions and loops that will lead us only into deadends.

*******************

"Now, now, now." I would clap if I had my hands free. "Look who's here. Come to take a look at your new digs?"  
"I should talk to Dr. Chilton. His medication is making you rather... crude."  
I laugh. "Couldn't help yourself, could you?"  
"Human beings very rarely can. What are you refering to in particular?"  
"Oh, okay. We're still playing that game? Okay, then. What's your opinion on this new 'copy-cat' killer, Dr. Lecter. Indulge me, Doctor. It's hard to be inside here without another mind to bounce your own thoughts off on."  
Hannibal chuckles. "Very well, Will."

*******************

"You're coming to me for help, but you're not willing to concede that I'm innocent?" I ask the next time Jack visits me. I lean back in my chair to chuckle quietly at that. It's hard to look suave and self-confident when wearing a muzzle and a straight-jacket, but I think I pull it off quite well.  
"This might just as well be a copy-cat. Wouldn't be the first row of copy-cats spawned by a high-profile serial-killer arrest."  
"But we both know it isn't." The look Jack gives me could be considered evidence in a homicide. "Come on, Jack. Is it so hard? Just say: Sorry, Will. Sorry, I believed you were a lunatic, cannibalistic serial killer, after we've been working together for years and I considered you a friend." I keep my tone light, despite my emotions behind it being anything but.  
Jack looks a mixture between just having swallowed a lemon and genuine guilt. "Let's concentrate on the case."  
"Alright, turn the page, please. This would go a whole deal faster if I was allowed to use my hands."  
"Not my rules, Will."  
Yes, of course. Chilton. I doubted anyway that Jack really considered me such a threat to his health.

*******************

"I'm not going to get your hopes up, but the case is being revised." Jack tells me without preamble.  
"I know. My lawyer just visited."

*******************

"Not-Guilty", "Freed of all charges", "The defendant is free to go". Freedom. A cleared name.  
My job back. It's all so easy. I clean-up my house, get back my dogs, and smile into Freddy Lounds face, while the reporters and cameras buzz around me.

*******************

"Of course, I don't believe that Dr. Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Jack. I was delusional."  
I laugh at him a little bit embarrassed, a little bit dismissive. I see the worry leave his face.  
He believes me. Good.   
"My sickness. The pressure you put on me." I intentionally make use of the guilt trip. When Jack is feeling bad, wondering what he's done, he won't think too deeply about what I did or how much sense my story makes. No one must question that I believe my own story. If I'm good enough, Hannibal will believe it too. Because I'd suit him. Because it strokes his ego. And also because he wants to. Because... he misses me.

*******************

It's so easy to fool them all. And I really wonder how they ever catch someone. After all they're supposed to be profilers too. But then they were supposed to be my friends too.  
I shouldn't think like that about them. It sounds bitter and mean. They were trying to do their job after all.  
The only one who tops even my performance is him. He's the utter image of devastation and guilt in front of the others.  
I play with the thought of taking him back and see how far we can take this little charade. Me pretending I believe him. Him pretending he believes that I believe him.

*******************

It's not that easy to get off tranqulizers fit to calm down an elephant. I get tremors in my hands so bad I can barely open a glass of jam myself. I can't sleep. I sweat. I can't go to work that way. I have to be believable, I have to be stable, or no one will consider any proof I will find against Hannibal. Calm and collected is all I can allow myself to be. It's all about presentation.

*******************

"It's good to have you back." Alanna gives me a hug. Clinging to me with a sort of desperation.  
Even she didn't believe me. Sure, in contrary to Jack, she at least didn't think me a psychopath.  
Just simply a lunatic.

I should forgive them. It's really not their fault. They don't play at the same level as Hannibal and me do. No one does.  
But I can't. Not Jack. Not Alanna. Because the least they owed me was to trust in me.

*******************

I have to let go of the darkness inside me. The force I cultivated through my stay at Dr. Chilton's facility. It served it's purpose, giving me the strength to take my life back. But it has to stop now. Watching my surrounding, looking into their heads and dissecting them, their actions, their motives. I'm not even sure it's entirely me, or which of my past cases I've channeled here. Maybe it's even Hannibal.

*******************

"Will?" Hannibal looks up in surprise.  
"Are you still busy?" I wait tentatively at the door to his office.  
"Not at all." He gets up, always polite, ushering me in. "What was it you needed?"  
I take a seat in front of his desk, wiping my hands on my pants. He gets back to his own chair, folding his hands in his lap, on his face a look of perfectly appropriate anticipation. I remember why I didn't like him in the beginning.  
I hate his perfectly accentuated formality, his polished manners and inpenetrable calm. I hate him for being able to sit in front of me, looking like he's really interested in what I have to say and not at all fazed by our circumstances, after everything he did to me. Or did he?  
I swallow and look at him with all the vulnerability I've shown him through our time, letting my gaze be open. I'm hurt. I'm afraid. I'm alone. I'm confused and conflicted. I'm broken. I need help. I have no one left in this world. No one to trust. Can I trust you?  
"Hannibal..." My voice hitches, I look at my hands. I look up again. Haunted. Unsure. "I'm... When you told me... You really... It was all in my mind, was it?" My heart is beating fast as a hummingbird's wings. I bet he can see the pulse flicker at my throat. I bet that is exactly where he's looking. "I did... I did imagine it all– Oh God, how is that possible?" I lean forward, my hand covering my mouth, bile rises up in my throat.  
Hannibal has gotten up now. He's standing beside my chair. Not yet touching me, but he wants to.  
"That is perfectly normal under that condition. It means not that you're insane. It is simply a malfunction of your brain under extreme strain. Your brain was inflamed, Will." His voice is so gentle, so careful. "It is extraordinary that you were still able to function as much as you were under those circumstances."  
I let out a broken, humorless laugh. "That helps a lot, Hannibal." I look at him, angry. "I saw things– I saw you– Can you imagine no longer being able to distinguish between reality and imagination?! Can you?! Because I don't know, Hannibal! I don't know!" I'm standing now, face to face with Hannibal. Panting. My fists clenched in impotent rage. "I can't." My voice breaks. Tears start to run down my face.  
Now Hannibal's hand is touching my face, thumb wiping away the wetness from my cheek.  
"I can only imagine what you must feel like. But, if you'll let me, I want to help you deal with all this. I know I've failed you before. Which I shouldn't have done. Because I know you and it was a grave mistake that I will never forgive myself for, to doubt your innocence for just one second. I knew you would never be capable of such atrocious deeds and nevertheless I let myself be convinced otherwise. I know you might not be able to forgive me. But I want to be there for you, as a friend. If I still dare to call myself that at least."  
My voice is hoarse. "Hannibal, I accused you of being a cannibalistic serial killer."  
A small, sad smile flickers across Hannibal's face.  
"And I believed you to be one."  
I laugh. Short, brittle and somewhat relieved. Some of the tension leaves both of us. He lets out a breath, I didn't know he was holding. I meet his eyes, silently begging him to take control of this situation, to let me get some peace for a just a few moments.   
His arms are around me, careful at first, but then holding on tightly. I lean against him, letting him hold my weight, just like my anguish.

I feel drained. Disgusted. And so in need of exactly what he's offering. But I did it. I did it. That's all that's important for now, I tell myself as I cling to him. I can do this. The hardest hurdle is taken. I did it. I did good.

*******************

"I forgive you, Hannibal." For a moment I see uncertainty in his eyes and my heart dances in glee. "I forgive you for not having believed me." I add. I have to keep my quips in check. If I'm constantly insinuationg his transgression he won't believe me. Won't believe me having lost my faculties so bad during my encephalitis that I can't tell reality from hallucination anylonger. If I'm half the actor he is, I'll be able to pull it off.  
It's an oroboros of sorts. Me trying to make him believe that I believe him, while he tries to make me believe that he believes that I believe him. While I pretent obliviousness. Neither of us knowing who will fall for the other's game for real in the end, who of us already has.

This part of the game is unnecessary. I don't have to go back into his house, his bed to reveal his deeds. I know him well enough and his crime scenes will eventually give me all I need. Nevertheless I give in to this exhilirating game.  
Sometimes I fantazise that I kill him, when he touches me, sometimes that it all was a bad dream, sometimes that I'd never found out.

*******************

He smiles at me from his side of the bed.  
Oh God, Hannibal, I want to say. You put one of Abigail's ears down my throat.

*******************

I wonder why he ever risked to believe me. Why he ever let me back into his life. Why he bothered, when he knew I could destroy everything. Was it arrogance? Was it sportsmanship? Or maybe is he still playing a game of his own and I am once again going to end up with the short end of the stick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment! ;D

**Author's Note:**

> You've read it you might as well comment.


End file.
